


Bereft

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Blood, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, there's only one character death and it's canon so if you've seen the show you know who it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's lost his best friend, his father, his arm, his job, and his freedom all within the last two months. Ginoza will be damned if he loses his dog, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bereft

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really interested in the period between the last fight with Makishima and when Mika is hired at Division One, especially for Ginoza because he lost so much in that period. So, uh, here's a thing.

It's like falling asleep into a nightmare, waking up without his arm. The worst part is, he doesn't realize it right away, because it hurts. Something that isn't there shouldn't hurt, but he doesn't realize that it's not the absent arm that's hurting. It's the part that's left, torn and only just stopped bleeding and shooting pain into the rest of his body. 

And then he looks over, to see what's wrong, the source of all this pain. 

There's nothing there except a bandaged stump, stained red. 

“We couldn't save your arm,” the doctor tells him. “But it shouldn't take too long to heal.” 

It's never going to heal, is the first thing Ginoza thinks. The second thing he thinks is about how damaging this must be to his psycho-pass. 

“The quality of prosthetics is great,” the doctor reassures him. “It'll be like you never lost your arm.” 

“C-color,” Ginoza manages. His throat is stuck, words can't get out. He wants to know what color he is. What his crime coefficient is. And at the same time he doesn't. 

The doctor frowns at him. “Color?” 

“What...color?” 

The doctor's expression shifts, just a bit. Enough for Ginoza to have his answer, even if the only thing the doctor says is, “Once we fix your arm, we'll send you into therapy. Does it hurt?” 

Ginoza jerks his head yes, and the doctor adjusts something on his IV. Whatever it is, it makes him tired, and he can barely keep his eyes open. 

He doesn't fight it. He almost throws himself into that nothingness, hoping that when he wakes up, things will be back to the way they were. 

*

Masaoka's arm isn't an arm. It's a mess of blood and shattered bone and skin stripped away to reveal pulpy muscle and there's a pool of red spreading across the floor, soaking into his hair and his jacket. His face is tense, teeth gritted in pain, but when he opens his eyes, it falls away. 

It almost doesn't matter what he's said. Ginoza screams himself raw, not just begging him to live, but yelling at him because he should have done his job. He should have done his job. 

Ginoza should have done his job, because if he'd been looking, he wouldn't have walked into a trap, and Masaoka wouldn't need to die for him. 

Masaoka says that he doesn't deserve to be called a detective and Ginoza wants to say that he's wrong, he was a great detective. He doesn't deserve to be called a father. 

But that's wrong because he is a father. Maybe he didn't deserve to be called a father before, but he does now. He's just sacrificed his job for his son, let Makishima get away even though he was ordered not to. 

He just sacrificed his life for his son. 

When Ginoza screams “Dad!” even though it's in anger and terror, he really means it. 

*

Before anyone tells him so, Ginoza knows that he's lost his job. He knows because a therapist came to talk to him shortly after he woke up for the second time, confirming his worst fears. His crime coefficient is over 100. He is a latent criminal. And typically, such a huge increase can't be brought back down. And he's been at risk for so long, that it's unlikely he will ever return to a low number. 

He's a prisoner. He doesn't have to be told that either. 

Akane visits him, tells him that she's keeping an eye on Dime, and tells him that she'd love to take him on as an enforcer. It's a decision that Ginoza doesn't make, he just thinks of it as something that is happening to him, like it happened to his father. There's nothing else, so he just nods and says that he will. 

When he starts is a different matter. Neither of them know when that will be. He is being kept in the treatment facility in a barren room, still attached to an IV and still being fussed over by doctors and nurses who are trying to prepare him for his prosthetic. 

The therapy isn't helpful. There's a fog that permeates his thoughts and it's bigger than the trauma of losing an arm or losing Kougami or even losing his father. It's something that makes his chest hurt and every time he thinks about it, his thoughts turn violently away, and it makes him angry and scared and he ends up ruminating on some other thing, like how his arm is gone and how angry he is at himself for not being able to avoid the path he hated seeing his father take, or how he's gone and lost his job. 

Maybe therapy would help if he talked about the bigger thing, but he can't. The bigger thing is too big. 

Maybe that's why his crime coefficient stabilizes rather quickly, because he's resigned himself. Maybe that's why the doctors and nurses and therapists send him back to the PSB so soon, because even though he wakes up screaming at night it's not something they think they can help him with. 

He's a lost cause. 

*

Masaoka shouts, but Ginoza doesn't hear it. Something heavy crashes into him, knocking him to the ground, knocking his glasses off his face and causing them to shatter a few feet away, and when he hits the floor and the crates land on top of him, he doesn't feel pain. He can't breathe from the shock, but he doesn't feel pain. 

Then he sees Masaoka rush forward, towards Makishima, and he feels so damn helpless. So bad at his job, that he let his guard down. It's then that the pain starts to creep into his arm, radiate through his body, and he grits his teeth. Tries to concentrate on what's going on ahead of him. There's an unpleasant warm, damp feeling that he suspects is blood. 

Then a bomb lands in front of him, and his eyes widen. He sees Masaoka look at it, too, and he shouts at him to do his job. Don't let Makishima escape. 

But of course that isn't what Masaoka does. He wrestles away from Makishima, lunges forward, snatches the bomb, and throws it. But it goes off the second it leaves his hand, and Makishima runs, and Masaoka is on the floor, and there's blood. 

Ginoza is straining forward before he can even think about what he's doing, and the pain in his arm builds and builds and he feels skin tear and bones crack and any other time he would scream, but he has to get forward because Masaoka's arm is gone and there's so much blood and no time, and finally he lurches forward, mind half-clouded with how much it hurts, and he stumbles and falls to his knees over Masaoka. Takes in the mess, and doesn't even know where to begin. 

He can't fix this. The extent of the injury, how broken Masaoka looks, it's terrifying. It isn't the worst thing Ginoza's seen on his job but it is, and it's so out of his control that he feels dizzy. Hot and cold and sick. 

He might look around, and he might see Kougami, but he isn't sure if he's imagining him there because he feels like this can't be happening, he can't be alone and helpless with Masaoka lying here dying. 

But he is. 

*

“I want to keep Dime.” 

Akane nods, looks completely understanding. “Enforcers are not usually allowed to keep pets,” she says. “You can't leave the building without an inspector's permission. I could take care of him.” 

“You don't need to worry about a dog on top of being the senior investigator of Division One,” Ginoza says, folding his arms over his chest. 

“How would you walk him?” 

“I'll figure out a way.” 

“Ginoza, I mean it. I could--” 

“No.” 

Akane sighs, and Ginoza would feel sorry for her. But he's lost his best friend, his father, his arm, his job, and his freedom all within the last two months. He'll be damned if he loses his dog, too. 

He can't stand the loneliness of his father's old quarters. There's nothing in there right now but a bottle of whiskey. He hasn't even bought food to cook, or new bedsheets. Dime's food bowl is on the kitchen floor waiting to be filled. It's quiet. 

And at night, when he finally falls asleep, Ginoza still wakes up screaming. And it makes him wonder what Akane would want with a broken man like him, one who couldn't even do his job. 

If he doesn't get Dime back, he thinks he might want to die. 

“I'll see what I can do,” Akane says. She touches his arm, the real one, and adds, “How are you doing, Ginoza?” 

“I'm returning to work in two days,” Ginoza tells her. “Hopefully that means that Division One will be able to handle the workload it's been given. If you need help finding people--” 

“That's not what I meant,” Akane says. “You can talk to me, you know.” 

“You're my boss,” Ginoza says. “It's better for you that you don't get too close to the enforcers.” 

“Ginoza-san.” Akane bites her lip. 

“We're not equals,” Ginoza tells her. “Not anymore.” He turns and starts walking back to his quarters. Akane doesn't call after him and he thinks, that's how it should be. She shouldn't worry about him. It's not her job. 

*

“You didn't think I could handle this case.” 

It's out there, and it's true, but there isn't time to really talk about it, because he trips a wire. 

It's the kind of mistake that some people don't survive. 

*

Dime comes back to the apartment, and Ginoza watches him happily munch away on dog food. 

He stirs his own noodles, an attempt at getting back to normal, because now that Dime is back he should be normal. But he's not hungry even though he hasn't really eaten since he's been back from the hospital. He's too thin. His hair is too long. He's too tired. And all of these things should matter but they don't. 

He pushes the bowl aside and thinks about whiskey. 

He's not just like his father. He's worse. No wonder--

With a strangled cry he swipes the bowl off the table and it crashes into the floor, shattering. It's not enough. Ginoza bends over and picks up the ceramic shards, throwing them into the wall, and Dime starts whining. 

It's enough to make Ginoza stop. There's still one shard clutched in his real hand, and he opens his palm to reveal that it's bleeding from several cuts. His gloved hand, the one that isn't real, is fine. It doesn't feel pain. Ginoza grabs the shard with his not-real-hand and watches blood drip from the other one to the floor. 

He clutches the shard tight, squeezing as hard as he can, and he can feel the pressure and that something is there, and when he opens his hand the shard has cut through the glove, revealing metal. 

Unmarred metal. 

It doesn't even hurt. 

Ginoza closes both his hands. The real one stings and bleeds harder, the prosthetic feels nothing except for the weight of the shard, and it makes him angry because it should feel something and it can't, and it's there but it isn't, and it's proof that he's broken and he can't do a thing about it, and if he were to dig the shard into his arm and drag it up there would be no blood, no damage. 

But if he did that on the other side, inflicted a wound on the part of him still alive and real...

He scrambles up from the ground, and Dime's whining is now background noise, and he stumbles through the living room into the bathroom and slams the door behind him, swipes the shower handle on and collapses on the floor, shaking like he's cold or sick. He waits for the water to wash off the blood and to soak through his clothes before he gets up, shuts off the shower, peels off his clothes, and pulls a towel around himself. 

Like he's just getting ready for bed. 

And he does go to bed. He puts on dry clothes and lies under the covers and stares at the ceiling and feels like everything's been scraped out of him. There's no point in sleeping, and no point in staying awake, because he's lost everything except Dime. And even though Dime is lying on the end of his bed, warm and heavy and real, he can still feel the big thing he won't talk about looming, carving out his insides and leaving him empty. 

His arm is gone. And his mind is going with it. 

*

It seems like Akane asks if he's okay every five minutes, and every five minutes Ginoza insists that he's fine. Until they're talking, and he slips and says that things might be better off if he'd died. 

He doesn't mean to say it to her, even if he does mean it. She's shocked, and he doesn't blame her. He stumbles over apologies, and she clearly looks like she wants to stay even though anyone else would be horrified at how weak he is, but she leaves because she has a meeting, and Ginoza sits in the office for a while longer, head bowed over his desk, wondering if he should just go. 

He ends up on one of the upper floor balconies, leaning against the railing, and he doesn't know how long he's there before he hears a voice say, “It is my job.” 

Akane appears next to him, looking at him and not over the edge. Ginoza feels like he's falling towards the concrete below. 

“It's my job to worry about you,” Akane continues. “Your lives are in my hands. And it's my job to understand you, because if I didn't, how could I work with you?” 

Ginoza shrugs. “I didn't do my job well enough.” 

“But you did,” Akane tells him. “You were good at keeping your enforcers well cared for and knowing what jobs best suited them. You weren't nice to them, but you didn't neglect your duty.” 

“Two enforcers are dead under my leadership, and one ran away,” Ginoza says through gritted teeth. 

“That wasn't your fault.” 

“It was.” 

Akane sighs. “Ginoza, you were a good mentor.” 

Ginoza closes his eyes. “I wasn't. I got angry at you.” 

“You worried about me,” Akane says. “You tried to keep me safe, and tried to make sure that I stayed in a healthy state of mind so I could do my job. You cared. You still do.” She lets that sink in. “But something's wrong.” 

“I'm fine,” Ginoza says. 

“What happened to your hand?” Gently, Akane lifts his bandaged hand. She turns it over, frowning. “You blame yourself. And I don't think you're taking care of yourself. Maybe you should return to therapy.” 

“Hah.” Ginoza shakes his head. “They couldn't help me.” 

“Then I will.” 

Ginoza stares at her. “Why? Why not just send me back so that you don't have to deal with a damaged criminal?” 

“Because I care about you,” Akane says. 

Ginoza's face pales. “Why?” 

“Why don't you believe me?” 

“People don't--” he bites his tongue. “Why would you want me to stay?” His eyes are burning now. He doesn't want to look at her, doesn't even want to be in the same place as her. 

“You're my friend,” Akane says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

Ginoza closes his eyes. Her hands are still holding his injured one, and he can feel her eyes on him, and her genuine concern. Not that this is her job, but that she really cares. That she really considers him a friend. 

“I'm not worth caring about,” Ginoza says, quietly. “Everyone I care about has left. I'm not worth staying for, and in some cases this is probably irrational. But I feel it. I know I'm irrational, and it doesn't make sense. I thought I could ignore it. I'm not a good detective like you, Akane. I'm not even a good person.” 

“I don't believe that,” Akane says. She grabs his arm, pulls so that he turns towards her, forcing him to look at her. “We all have our problems. Things we don't like about ourselves. And things that other people like about us.” 

“Do we?” 

“You said you're irrational,” Akane says. “But I think you'll believe me when I say that I'm not leaving. And that I'm your friend. And that even though we're not equals in our jobs, that doesn't mean we can't be friends.” 

Ginoza stares at her. 

And then she hugs him. 

He gasps, but she keeps her arms around him, so he puts his arms around her. She's holding him close, her head buried in his chest, possibly because she's so short, and it's so against what he thinks should be proper, and it's been so long since he's had contact with anyone. It's stiff and awkward and he isn't completely relaxed. Akane's hair brushes his chin, and he doesn't pull away, because even if it isn't something he's used to, he can understand why Akane is doing it, and that if he tries, maybe it will help. 

And there is something comforting about her presence, and her willingness to be so close to him like this in a way that very obviously has nothing to do with work, because hugging subordinates is not appropriate. 

But hugging friends is. 

“Thanks you,” he murmurs, and only then does Akane pull away. 

“I have something for you in the office,” she says. “I just got it this morning.” 

He follows her back inside and from under her desk she pulls out a package. It feels heavy when he takes it. And he thinks he knows what it is. 

He tears it open. 

*

That night Ginoza breaks down into sobs that wrack his body when he tries to fall asleep. He curls in on himself, clutches at his father's old brown coat, and he can hardly breathe. 

The big thing and all the little things that make him want to run away are still there. But now, he's acknowledged them all. Put them out there. And four months after his father's death, they're becoming just a little bearable. 

For the first time in months, he doesn't feel alone.


End file.
